Just You and Me
by Dark'nLightAngel
Summary: Inspired from Raw Roulette on 9-13-10. Cena isn't happy about the match stipulations. He wants to do something different and fun. Who better to do it with then his best friend, Randy Orton? But how does Randy feel about this? Oneshot. T for cursing. R&R!


**Summary: **Inspired from the Raw Roulette episode on 9-13-10. Cena isn't happy about the match stipulations. He decides that he wants to do something different and fun for once. Who better to do it with then his best friend, Randy Orton? But how does Randy feel about this? Friendship fic.

Alright, so obviously this took me ages to write. It's pretty much been one of my side-projects that I work on at random when my muses refuse to focus on my _actual_ task at hand (currently **TTWNATD**). It kinda got all over the place in result, but I think that rather adds to the fun. That said, the majority of this fic is on the playful-seriousness side and there is a lot of teasing. I enjoyed writing it and I can only hope that you guys enjoy reading it. I may or may not eventually post more of these guys, but it honestly depends on my mood and muses.

Honestly, I almost didn't post this up but after sharing some on my Tumblr and talking with someone who enjoyed it, I decided I would post it up for them to enjoy as a whole. This_ is_ my first time actually writing Randy and might as well be the first time doing John. So, they—okay, so _Randy_ is a bit OOC. I don't like playing him up as someone who has no doubts or insecurities ever and I like the idea of him and John having a deep enough relationship that he can show some weakness.

As always, feel free to review and critic. Any feedback is welcome and flames will be doused with water appropriately. Thanks.

_**Story Size: **12,315 words_

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own them. I wish I owned them and the WWE. But I don't. Damn you, Vince. Damn you._

**.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.–.**

**Just You and Me**

**'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'–'**

"Come on, Randy! Come on, come on!" John was practically hopping up and down, his hands clasped in front of his chest as he pleaded heedlessly with his friend.

Randy simply stared at him, raising an eyebrow, "It's amazing, man, how little dignity you have at times. Just because HBK retired doesn't mean you have to take his place, you know, John."

That sobered the older male up right quick and he straightened himself out, frowning, "Hey, there's nothing wrong with wanting some fun, Randy."

"_Fun_ is one thing. What you're asking is for me to go out there and do something that is so out of character it... It..."

John grinned as his friend faltered in his protest, a thoughtful look coming over his features, "Yes? It... What? Provides you the perfect payback to Vince for that thing with the car—"

"Shut up." Randy growled, irritated that the older male was getting the better of his logical side with mention of revenge. "John, this could get us into some real deep shit. You know that. Besides, I can't imagine you going out to the ring in anything other than your jorts."

"What? You don't think I could pull off a speedo?" Upon receiving a grimace John frowned and crossed his arms, putting on a hurt expression, "Oh, come on! You just don't want to wear _more_ then you usually do."

"No. I just don't want to have to look at your white ass self more then I'm usually required to during the match. At least normally, you're half clothed."

"I'm hurt, Randy."

"Good, because my eyes already hurt at the idea." Glancing at the pouting expression of his best friend, the younger male gave a long-winded sigh and reached up to rub his temples, "You better hope that they can tailor you a version of my gear that'll actually fit."

The grin that split John's face made him uneasy, "Don't worry, buddy, I already got it taken care of! For now, we should focus on getting _you_ some fitting jorts."

"You already—John! Did you already tell the creative team about this, without asking me?"

"Er... Maybe. But it doesn't matter, because you said yes anyways. I just saved everyone some trouble."

Randy's eyes narrowed at his friend. He definitely did _not_ think of it in that fashion and he was sure that the older man knew that. After all, John was backing up pretty quickly towards his bag. As the smaller, tanned male took an advancing step, John whipped out a purple 'NEVER GIVE UP/CENATION' shirt. He grinned when the other paused, holding it out.

"Part one. You gotta wear the shirt."

"...Ugh. Really?"

"Yea, really! C'mon, it's not that bad. Be thankful it ain't orange; no one would be able to tell you were wearing it." John joked, blatantly amused at the reaction. "And, and! Wait for it." He tossed the shirt to the other before turning and digging into the bag again. When he turned back around, he had five sweatbands in one hand and a hat in the other. "Tadaa! See? The only thing we're missing is some vintage jorts and sneakers that'll fit ya."

"Those are _new_, right?"

"Of course! Now, c'mon, costume design will have everything else we need ready by now." Winking mischievously, the older wrestler turned and rushed out of the locker room, laughing when Randy's voice carried up from not too far behind him.

"You are _so_ dead, Cena!"

–.–.–.–.–.–

Later that night, waiting for their match, Randy found himself undergoing inspection. He felt ridiculous, dressed up like his on-screen nemesis. Not only because it was _John_, but because it was _colorful_ and _baggy_ and just... Not anything he would normally be caught dead in. Now, as if to add even more humiliation to his situation, John was looking up and down the entire ensemble with a critical eye.

"...Fix your hat, man. It has to be just right, so when you salute, you won't knock it off your head." When he received a confused look, John rolled his eyes, "The salute, man! We're _mimicking_ each other, that means our entrances, too. You have to _salute_, then run down to the ring. You've seen me do it enough and I know damn well that you can salute, so don't give me that look."

"John, the hat is straight."

"No. It isn't. Here." Sighing, as though dealing with a kid on their first day of school or something of that sort, the older male stepped closer to adjust the cap on his friend's head. "_Now_ it's straight. Look, do a salute. You'll see."

Irritated and slightly put off by the other's behavior, Randy did as he was told. His arm raised into a perfect salute, hand sliding smoothly under the brim of the hat without so much as touching it. Still, John winced. Narrowing his eyes, the taller male turned his head to the side in a dangerous gesture and growled lowly.

"What now?"

"You're too tense. Loosen up some, man."

Randy stared at the other for a long moment, looking as if he would like nothing more then to commit murder right then and there, damned be the consequences. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a calculating gleam accompanied by a smooth, rare smile.

"John."

"Uhhh... Yeah, Randy?"

"Go get ready."

"But—"

"_Go_."

Recognizing the dangerous tone in his friends voice, John raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He backed up slowly, grabbed the ring gear that had been tailored specifically for him, and vanished to change. Randy took the opportunity to get a good look at himself in the mirror. He grimaced at the sight of himself in jorts and sneakers with four purple sweatbands around his wrists and the gaudy CeNation t-shirt hiding the fifth around his upper arm. The hat just made it look that much more ridiculous.

How the hell was he supposed to be taken seriously when he was going along with something like _this_? They would be laughing stocks! He could already hear Hunter over the phone, asking him what the hell he was thinking. Hell, it wasn't just Hunter he was worried about. The second he went through with this, the entire roster would have a good laugh at his and his friend's expense.

But at least this sort of thing was expected from John.

"...Yoo-hoo, earth to Randal!" Speaking (or thinking?) of... The voice of the older wrestler snapped Randy from his nerve-wracked thoughts. His head snapped to the side before he reeled back. "Geeze, don't make that face. It's not like you don't see guys bigger then me run around in these underwear things."

That did it. Randy's eyes zeroed in on a particular accessory around his friend's neck that was definitely not part of his normal wrestling gear, "You forgot something."

"...I did? What?" Immediately, John did a once over of himself. Wrists taped, knee pads on. There wasn't much to Randy's outfit.

"The dog-tags Give me them."

"...What?"

"You heard me, John. You can't wear them. I have to. You're the one who wanted to do a 'Trading Places' match." Randy smirked, victorious, as the older male's expression went from shocked to wary to a bit distrustful. He held out a hand, "Come on, give it up."

"...Fine. But nothing better happen to them, Randy, or I swear I'll tan your hide."

"Right, whatever." Waiting for the item in question to be handed over, he held them up to examine before pulling the chain over his head, "You look more ridiculous then I do, by the way."

"Good. So you'll stop freaking out about the others reactions now since I'm obviously the bigger joke, right?" John smiled when the other blinked in surprise at his statement, "C'mon, Randy. I'm your best friend. It's not that hard to tell when you're getting too self conscious for your own good."

"I... Don't know what you're talking about." Randy frowned, turning his head away to glare at his own reflection, "I'm fine."

"Right, right." Holding his hands up yet again in surrender, the older wrestler turned for the door, "Then let's get a move on, _Champ. _We've got a date with the ring."

Randy's eye twitched slightly. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to punch Cena for the 'champ' remark, or crack a smile. Either way, he followed the other out of the locker room and tried his best to remember just how, exactly, he was supposed to be doing John's entrance. He would have to do it in a way that would seem mocking, if he wanted to hold any shred of dignity. Somehow, Randy would have to get into a 'Cena' attitude while giving it something all his own.

Then a thought occurred to him and Randy stopped dead, "John."

Blinking, the older wrestler turned to glance back at him, "Hm? What's up?"

"Do we have to imitate each other's wrestling style?"

"Well, that'll make it more fun, yeah."

"Finishers?"

That made John stop and get a thoughtful expression. He turned to face Randy fully, rubbing the back of his neck, "You know, I never thought about that. You could pull off the AA, but I'm definitely not versed in the art of the RKO."

"I guess I'm winning tonight, then." Randy smirked, arms crossing over his chest victoriously. It fell quickly when John grinned deviously and shook his head.

"Woah, there, Champ. That doesn't mean you get to win. It just means I get to counter out of your attempt at my finisher, then show you how it's really done." The older man looked as if he was about to bust up laughing at the expression that passed over his friend's face at his words, "Come on, you didn't really think I'd let you beat me with my own finisher?"

"Tch. I think, John, it's only fair that I win this match. Seeing as you created this stipulation without even asking me, knowing how uncomfortable it would make me."

"So you admit that you're freaking out over all of this!"

"What? No!"

"But you just said—"

"Uncomfortable does not translate to 'freaking out', Cena!" Randy growled out, using all the willpower he had to keep from blushing at how well his friend could read him. It didn't matter, there was no fucking way he would admit the other was right.

"For you, Randy? Yeah, it does. Anything 'uncomfortable' makes you freak out." John informed him simply, shaking his head and speaking as though he was talking to a little kid, "You can deny it all you want, buddy, but I know you better then you wanna admit."

"...Shut up. Let's just get this over with."

As he turned away to continue their path to the gorilla position, Randy missed the slightly worried frown that came over his best friend's features. John watched the younger male walk away for a moment before sighing and following after. This night was not going how he wanted; Randy was being far too difficult, which was annoyingly uncooperative for what John wanted.

"Get it over with. Right, whatever you say, Champ..."

–.–.–.–.–.–.–

Randy's stomach did a flip when Cena's theme music hit. The crowd all but exploded and he went out to a bigger pop then he had gotten in a _very_ long time. He felt ridiculous, but forced himself to keep a straight face as he broke through the curtains and out onto the ramp. Like a mantra, John's words of instruction from earlier played in his head over and over. He hesitated after breaking through the curtains, looking out at the crowd with a sense of 'I really don't want to be here right now'.

But the cheering only got louder the longer he stood there and looked out, for some reason. It would have been impossible for his lips not to twist up into a half-grin as he stepped towards the top of the ramp. Taking one more cursory glance at the fans, he raised his hand in a slightly more relaxed but still precise salute and did his very best John impression running down the ramp. This was the part he had always thought looked fun: sliding headfirst into the ring.

The second he hit the mat, he could have sworn that he went deaf. Was the WWE Universe really enjoying this that much? It didn't seem possible, but he still found himself unable to _not_ grin (which may or may not have looked like a smirk of some sort). He understood what John meant when he was always blathering on about how much energy he got from the fans.

Randy knew exactly what he wanted to do; John wouldn't come out until he gave the signal, so he decided to pause his own entrance and motioned for a mic. When the crew member handed it to him, he turned and leaned against the top rope with his back facing the ramp thoughtfully. Waiting for the crowd to react when they realized that he wasn't going to continue the rest of John's entrance. It didn't take very long and the reaction was more what he was used to. Smirking and raising the mic to his lips, Randy held up a hand in mock surrender.

"I know, I know. I don't exactly pull him off very well. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't find enough suntan lotion in the back to make me white enough." That got a flurry of cheers and laughter. He grinned slightly, shaking his head, "On a more serious note... I know what you guys want. And I'm going to say right now, that it's not happening."

The crowd erupted into boos. Shaking his head again, Randy continued.

"Listen, listen... I'm sorry! But I'm not going to make a total fool out of myself like Cena insists on doing whenever he comes out here. It's just not happening." This was met by more boos, followed by 'Do it!' and 'You suck!' chants. Rolling his eyes, Randy sighed and moved to the middle of the ring, "Alright, alright. Do you _really_ want me to do it?"

His eardrums were about to burst. Reaching up a hand to stick a pinky in one ear, he twisted it and tilted his head to the side, "Really?"

"DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!"

"ORTON! ORTON! ORTON!"

"CENA! CENA! CENA!"

They couldn't make up their damn minds what to chant. This was ridiculous. Randy threw his hands up in surrender, "Alright, you win. But I swear, the first person to laugh gets an RKO." There was silence for a moment as he looked around at the crowd hard before muttering, "...Hit the music."

John's music burst through the air as he tossed the mic off to the side. Okay, how did the big lunk go about this again? He bounced off the ropes a few times like a dope in a playground and threw his hat into the crowd, right? Randy wanted to punch himself for not knowing exactly what his friend did; it wasn't as though he hadn't been required to watch the entrance a hundred times in the past.

Shaking his head in pure exasperation, Randy glanced around at the crowd before smiling and launching himself at the ropes in as good a imitation of John as he could muster. He went back and forth a couple of times before grabbing the hat from his head and launching it into the crowd just before he came to a stop and spun around once. Judging from the positive reaction from the crowd, it was close enough to 'right'.

He grinned and backed up towards a corner of the ring when his own music hit. To his surprise, the pop for John wasn't nearly as big as it had been for him. Was him dressing up like the other that big of a novelty? Because it wasn't typically expected of him and no one really put things like this past Cena? It made him feel kind of good about the entire thing to just entertain that idea, but it was quickly swept from his mind when he got a better look at John.

At some point in the few minutes since he'd last seen the other, John had gotten a tan. And a really, really bad one at that. Randy narrowed his eyes at his bordering-on-orange friend as the crowd erupted into laughter. Ohhh, he was not going to survive this match, if Randy had anything to say about it. Which he did.

By the smirk on John's face as he stalked slowly down the ramp, it was easy to tell he knew exactly what his friend was thinking. He was enjoying it, too, much to the other's displeasure. Irritated, Randy paced a bit in the far corner of the ring as John ascended the steel steps and took his time getting into the ring. He was _really_ regretting the fact that he liked drawing his entrance out. The referee kept between the two of them as the older wrestler moved right past the corner the other wrestler was in to get to the one that Randy always went to for his entrance.

Randy forced himself to move to the corner across from it as John climbed up onto the second rope. He smirked at the obvious hesitation the other showed just before he let go of the ropes with his hands and threw his arms up in his best 'Orton' pose. The crowd erupted yet again, making the Viper wince slightly. Could they be any louder? He paced some more and tore off the purple 'Cenation' shirt, throwing it in a random direction at the crowd like John did before doing the whole 'dog-tags' routine.

When John finally jumped down from the ropes, looking all too glad to be back on the solid canvas of the ring. He turned around to look directly at Randy, giving his trademark grin. The younger male narrowed his eyes, unamused, as they took their separate corners. Cocky bastard was amused, was he? Well, he wouldn't be for much longer once the match started. As soon as he got his hands on the older man, he was deader then dead.

The ref gestured for the bell to ring and John did the unthinkable. He paced forward a step and held out his hand in a gesture most of the 'good' guys used when set against each other. Frowning, Randy looked from the hand to it's owner multiple times with slight surprise. What was he supposed to do? He was a _heel_, for fuck's sake! Growling softly, Randy shook his head and paced in his corner.

John grinned and straightened, backing up a step in a manner that stated he wasn't about to give up. He waited a second, watching his friend before stepping forward again and holding out his hand.

"Come on, man. Have some fun for once." Randy stared at him, then glanced around at the crowd in attempt to gauge what they were thinking. His thoughts weren't allowed to last long before the other demanded his attention again, "Don't do that. Let's have fun."

Randy's gaze snapped back to John, noted the near-orange male smiling at him in that reassuring way he hated. It proved just how well his friend could read him. Lips pressing into a thin line, he moved forward and accepted the handshake. A second later he felt himself yanked towards the other so that they were head to head. His eyes narrowed into a glare as he found himself all but forced into eye contact. John was wearing a serious expression on his face, the one that Randy knew usually read 'pay attention, or I'll kick your ass'. He waited for the other to speak, fully aware that his hand was still trapped in a death grip.

"Listen to me, Randy. It's just you and me here, alright? I'm all that matters right now, in this ring. Not the announcers, not the guys in back—not even the fans." John spoke in a low but serious tone, pressing his forehead against the others like they would normally to play up a stand off. "Got me? Don't pay attention to any of them—just me."

"That's ridiculous, John, it's not like I have much choice but to do that anyway." Randy growled, but even so he flexed his free hand, anxious to really get started and stop talking. He never enjoyed how it felt when John was reading him perfectly.

"No man, you know what I mean. No gauging expressions or reactions or anything of that sort. If you so much as glance in the direction of the crowd, I promise I'll bring your attention back to me so fast that you'll get whiplash." The older male told him, squeezing his hand, "So you better give me your full, undivided attention."

"Whatever, let's go already."

Feeling his hand finally released, Randy paced back and waited for the bell to ring before he shot forward again. The idea of the match was to try and mimic your opponent as much as possible. Not just in looks or appearance, but also in ring style and moves. That meant that during the match he and John would be aiming to pull off some of one anothers favorite move sets. John was going to be using the inverted back breaker, scoop power slam and elevated DDT. Randy was going to shoot for some suplexes, a Thesz Press and the STF. John had shown him how to preform the hold several times in the past and it felt like it would be something of sweet revenge to use the damn thing on _him_ for once. Or at all, for that matter.

The first time that Randy's attention slipped from what was happening in the ring to outside of it was shortly after he suffered his own favorite power slam. His gaze slid towards the stands, wondering at level of noise being made, and next thing he knew his body was being yanked up off the mat and thrown into a corner. Not more then a second later, John slammed into him and forced all the air from his lungs. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Randy opened them again to see the faint grin his friend was sporting.

"I told you. Whiplash." The only response was a soft groan as the older male proceeded to pull him into a headlock, "Now try again."

Try again, indeed. If he thought that the other had been coming at him hard earlier it was nothing compared to now. Almost as if he was determined to keep Randy's mind off everything else, John kicked up the pace of the match and doubled up on everything. Like running the final stretch in a marathon, they came up with new spots for the quicker pace and the only time there was in between to think about something else was given to analyze the condition of his body and his breathing.

That was around the time that Randy decided to go for the Thesz Press. As John charged at him, Randy leapt into the air so that he would land on the other and knock him to the ground to beat the hell out of. An abrupt halt to the pace that John had set for them. Not to mention, a decent time to start another quick and quiet conversation.

"You're killing me, Cena." Growling as he all but pummeled his friend, the younger wrestler continued, "Your frame coming at speeds that fast hurts like a _bitch_."

"Then—" John grunted, finding it hard to say anything under the onslaught without killing the move entirely. Randy couldn't help but smirk as he finished up and climbed to his feet. Surprisingly, the other wasn't too far behind and rammed him back into the corner _again _as he finally finished his response, "Don't make me resort to drastic measures."

The older man backed up, leaving Randy to try and catch his breath. When John next charged at him, Randy grabbed the ropes on either side of him and leapt up and over the other's head, landing about a foot away from the other. He silently thanked God (and his trainer) for giving him such a great jumping ability before turning to capitalize and finding himself clothes-lined by John right out of the corner. Ouch; it was one of his favorite moves to do when on the defense and, as he rolled out onto the ring apron, he wished that the other didn't know as much. Climbing to a stand via the ropes, he braced himself for the experience that was an elevated DDT.

To his credit, John knew how to preform all of the moves as well as he could hope. Once or twice before they had challenged one another in the ring before shows with preforming their own moves. Sometimes they were joined by the others; notably Truth or Morrison. Randy had always gotten a kick out of watching John's more clumsy portrayal of his usually calculated wrestling style—just as the other enjoyed seeing someone else preforming his usual moves. Since both styles were for very different builds, the outcomes were typically amusing. Particularly when they were attempting to teach each other various move alterations.

Randy still remembered when Morrison had tried teaching him and Truth how to do Starship Pain. Cena had provided them a dummy to practice on, but it had ended with several ice packs and the decision to never try it again. John had tried to convince Randy to teach him the RKO but the younger male had only grimaced and shook his head. The older male was far too clumsy for the Viper to trust him not to break a foot or something like he had the first time he had attempted it.

"Frog, man." John's voice snapped Randy out of his thoughts and back to the match at hand. He had been moving on auto-pilot during the last few minutes of the match as they ran through the paces. Automatically, Randy leapt over the other as he came off the ropes, spinning around to catch John on the way back, preforming a vertical suplex.

Here, Randy paused for a moment, frowning down at the prone form of his friend as an idea came into his head. Originally he had been planning to attempt his friend's submission move for some poetic justice. However, staring down at the older male's current position brought a completely different thought to mind. As if knowing what he was thinking (which wouldn't surprise him in the least), John raised his eyebrows challengingly. The younger male narrowed his eyes in return, tilting his head to the side a bit before sparing the audience a glance. For the first time since they had started, he realized just how loud the arena was.

Or maybe it had just gotten like this? Well, whatever it was, Randy shook it off and stooped down to look directly into his friend's eyes. Lips quirking up into a smirk, he waved a hand in front of his face and found that he couldn't hear himself over the sound of the crowd all but screaming, "You can't see me."

A few seconds and one Five Knuckle Shuffle later, Randy had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely. Grinning as he waited for John to climb to his feet, he noticed the signal from the ref to wrap things up. Nodding to himself, the younger wrestler turned and made his attempt at the Attitude Adjustment. Of course, just as they had discussed earlier, John countered out of it and proceeded to pull Randy onto his shoulders for the actual thing. This ending still didn't sit well with Randy, so he made a split second decision.

"Reversing." Accompanied by a slap on the back, this was all the warning John was given for what his friend was about to do. Thankfully, it was enough for him to understand and adjust his movements enough to support Randy as he countered John's finisher into his own.

Groaning, the younger wrestler rolled and tossed an arm over his friend's chest. Three seconds later, his own music blared through the speakers of the arena. John reached up and slapped him on the arm a couple of times before rolling away. Shaking his head in attempt to clear it, Randy climbed to his feet. Not a moment later, he felt a hand grab his wrist and raise it into the air. He pulled away and moved to climb onto his favorite corner, throwing his arms up into a victory pose.

When he jumped back down to the mat, Randy felt a hand tap his shoulder and turned around to face John. The older male was grinning. He raised a hand to point directly in his friend's face, shaking his finger in an all too familiar fashion.

"I told ya it would be fun. Did I not tell you?"

Randy frowned, glaring at the other, "Yeah, you told me. Now move."

"Ah-ah. Not so fast, champ." Pacing a step back, towards the middle of the ring, John held his hand out again, "Good match."

"Not this again... Cena—"

"Come on, Orton." Wiggling his fingers, John stretched the hand out just a bit farther, "Anything that might have hurt your 'reputation' has already been done. Just askin' for a handshake."

Forcing himself to take a breath, Randy stretched out his arm and accepted the handshake, "You know, when I win on Sunday—which, I will—I won't be shaking any hands."

"Oh no you don't, I'm going to be the one winning that title." John tightened his grip before glancing towards the ramp, "Heads up!"

Before Randy could take a look for himself, the other had yanked him down and released his hand. On instinct, he darted forward and spun on the spot to see Chris and Adam turning around. He'd forgotten that they were supposed to come out in an ambush towards the end of the show. Edge started toward him before stopping and running his eyes over the tanned male, then the orange one. He raised an eyebrow, lips quirking upwards in bewildered amusement as Chris snickered. Randy scowled at him, glancing over at John accusingly.

They were getting laughed at, and it was all that giant buffoon's fault.

"Stop. Laughing." Randy growled out in a low tone, flexing his hands at his sides before tightening them into fists.

"Sorry man, but you just... You look ridiculous." Adam grinned from ear to ear, shaking his head and raising a hand as he cracked up, totally ignorant to the fact that the Viper's temper was boiling just under the surface, "Those shorts, it's like you're asking for a wardrobe malfunction. What did you two do, just tighten the belt on one of John's pairs?"

"And John, man, orange is definitely not your color." Chris waved his hands before gesturing at the man's gear, "How'd you even manage to get that in your size? Or did you already have it? I know you guys like to experiment with your moves so it really wouldn't be a surprise if you kept a set of each other's gear in your sizes."

John glanced between the two blonds and Randy warily, the ever-growing tension putting him on edge. Nervously, he stretched out his arms and stepped between his friend and the two snickering men, "Don't let these two idiots get to ya, O. It's pointless."

Clenching his fists, Randy took a step back towards the edge of the ring. Adam stopped laughing long enough to smirk up at him, "Yeah, listen to your mommy. He always knows best, doesn't he?"

"That does it." Launching forward, the Viper ducked under his friend's outstretched arm and rammed directly into Adam.

Fists were flying before they even hit the mat. Chris tried to pull Randy off the Rated R Superstar but was rewarded with an elbow in his face for his trouble. Y2J whirled around, dazed, and was met with an Attitude Adjustment. Once that was done, John moved to do what the blond had failed at—wrapping his arm firmly around the enraged wrestler's throat and yanking him backwards off Adam who, by this point, looked like he didn't know where the hell he was.

"Let go of me, John!" Randy growled, struggling against his friend as he was dragged backwards, "I'm going to kill him!"

"That's exactly why I'm not letting go." Was the honest reply, "Come on, you'll get your chance at them both on Sunday! If you keep on like this, ya probably won't even make it to the pay-per-view, let alone the title match!"

It took a moment of more struggling and tightening of his grip before John felt Randy calm down and stop fighting. Slowly, he loosened the hold and was shoved away by the younger wrestler. The Viper's body was tense, his hands clenched at his sides as he visibly forced himself to take deep, even breaths. Chris was starting to climb to his feet, moving towards Adam and smacking his shoulder a couple times to get the other blond stirring as well. Once certain that his friend was still responsive, Jericho straightened and turned around—only to walk directly into an RKO.

John flinched and took a step forward, "Randy—" The glare that was turned onto him by his younger friend was all that was needed for him to throw up his hands in surrender, "Never mind."

"That's what I thought."

Turning his attention back to the man who had originally incited his rage, Randy got into position, waiting anxiously until Adam finally stumbled to his feet before pulling him around and delivering another RKO. Rolling back into a stand, he tugged off the sweat bands on his arms and threw them to the crowd before turning around to face his friend once more. The older male shook his head before dropping to the mat and rolling from the ring, heading back up the ramp. Randy took one last look at the two blonds before climbing out of the ring himself to follow John into the back.

The second he passed through the gorilla position, the younger wrestler found himself tackled to the ground. It wasn't hard to figure out who had tackled him by the orange-tinted skin and bulky mass that had passed over his vision very briefly. Without giving a thought to whoever might be staring at them like they were maniacs, Randy lashed out with his fists. The two rolled on the ground as they fought for a full out minute before John managed to restrain him in a headlock again.

"Damn it, Cena, let go of me!"

"You know, usually when someone pulls you off another person, then lets go, it doesn't mean you can go be and asshat again!" John ignored the demand for release, tightening his grip on the younger male and ignoring the gathering group.

"They were asking for it! You got to AA Chris!"

"Yeah, and you beat the shit out of Adam! There was no reason to try and break their damn necks six days before Night of Champions."

"The fuck there wasn't—nearly every fan out there was expecting me to do it, anyways."

"Not a damn excuse and you know it."

"Like hell it isn't." Growling, Randy rocked one way then the other before finally rolling both himself and John to get out of the hold. Not even bothering to stand again, he turned and landed a solid blow on the other's jaw, "I don't give a damn what Vince says, Adam pushed the envelope too fucking far and I don't need you hanging around to handle me with kiddie gloves, so just fuck off already!"

Climbing to his feet, the Viper stalked off towards the locker room, the small crowd that had gathered parting before him. Like a bomb getting ready to explode—again—at the smallest thing. Behind, still on the floor, John rubbed his jaw and frowned quietly. His eyes clouded over a bit with an unreadable expression before the bulky man climbed to his feet. By this time, Adam and Chris had made it to the gorilla position and he wasted no time in confronting them more fully now there weren't millions of fans around watching. Stalking over to the blonds, he blocked both of their paths, a dangerously serious expression on his face.

"Just what the hell did you two think you were doing out there?" John demanded, glaring between the two.

"You don't really expect me to talk to you seriously looking like that, do you?" Adam snorted through his hand, no doubt sporting a bloody nose from the pummeling he had just suffered.

"I do. You have any fucking idea just how long it took to come up with something that I thought would cheer Randy up some? Let alone _convince_ him to loosen up and go along with it?" John growled, his hands clenching at his sides, "Then you two fools go running out there afterward and ruin everything with your jokes and stupid comments. Can't ya just come out and get your asses kicked like the rest of them? Ya have to start unneeded drama, too?"

"Hey, it's not our fault that he's so touchy." Chris countered, frowning, "We were just trying to have some fun and he freaks out—"

"You were trying to start a brawl and get him suspended from the match Sunday. I may act like a goof but I'm not so stupid as not to notice when someone's up ta no good." Pointing a finger between the two of them, he started to back towards the hall Randy had gone down before glaring at Adam, "You're lucky I pulled him off ya or else you'd both be missing out Sunday."

"Whatever." The Rated R Superstar rolled his eyes, watching as John vanished down the hall before growling quietly and removing his hand from his nose, "I think that fucker broke my nose—how bad is it, Chris?"

The only response was a grimace and quiet, "Let's get you checked out, buddy."

Not long later...

"Come on, Randy! Let me in." John called through the door of his friend's private locker room.

He had taken out a few minutes to go get showered and changed before hunting down the other wrestler. It was always good to give Randy some time before the next confrontation—he liked to think things through a lot so he was usually less tense if left alone for a span of time. As long as it wasn't too long of a span and he started to over think and analyze the situation. John estimated that twenty minutes had passed since their small brawl. Surely that was long enough.

However, Randy was being stubborn. John could hear him pacing on the other side of the door but the younger male was purposefully ignoring him. Nothing irritated him more then knowing he was being blatantly ignored in an important situation. Frowning, he banged on the door in front of him insistently. Maybe Randy just had his headphones in and didn't realize—who was he kidding? The other was always paying attention to his surroundings, he listened to music with one ear and whatever was happening with the other. Now would be no different.

"Damn it, Orton! Open this fucking door right now or I'm going to leave your grouchy ass stranded here!" Without warning, the door flew open. John felt his wrist snatched right out of the air and was dragged inside by it before the door snapped shut again and the lock clicked. All within seconds of each other. He spun to glare at his friend, who was once again pacing, noting that he hadn't changed or even pulled on a shirt, "The hell are you doing still dressed like that?"

"Just shut up for a minute, would you?"

"Unless you intend to tell me what's going on with your head, fuck no."

Randy stopped pacing, raising his hands to claw at his face in frustration before tossing a pleading look at his friend. All the anger and tension from earlier had been erased and replaced by a tired and troubled expression, "John. Please."

Softening, the older male crossed his arms and nodded reluctantly. He moved back to lean against the wall as the other started to pace yet again, fingers pressing into his temples. Something was obviously wrong and that worried John. Surely the words tossed around in the ring didn't bother him that much—did they? A frown once again passed over his features as he watched his friend warily. Waiting for him to say something because, eventually, he would.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Randy stopped again and turned to face his friend, "After I walked off, I ran into Vince. He has a storyline in the works that involves us, but..." He stopped, shaking his head and turning to pace some more.

" 'But'... What? What is it, Randy?" John pushed off the wall and moved to intercept his friend, "Come on, don't leave me hanging like that. What's the storyline?"

"I don't like it."

"Yeah, I figured as much, but you've got to tell me more then that."

"It... It has to do with your current feud with the Nexus. I just... I told Vince I didn't want any part of it, but he said it was already decided and—" A low growl escaped Randy as he raised his hands to his head in frustration once more, shaking his head. "He said I'm going to get the title on Sunday and it's gonna get mixed up with your feud with those bastards soon. But he wouldn't... He wouldn't tell me what it was, exactly. Just that, if I wanted to get myself into a better light for the fans, now would be a good time to start."

John's frown deepened as he listened to his friend. Obviously, McMahon was upset at them for changing their match tonight and he had decided to get back by planting just enough information in Randy's head to make him go crazy with worry. It was no secret that the Viper wasn't the biggest fan of the current events with the Nexus and the way the storyline had them singling John out. Knowing that something was going to happen in the future involving them and John that could possibly open a window for Randy to make a face turn was probably making his mind bring up a dozen different situations. The most likely being that John was going to be in much deeper trouble soon enough then he was now and Randy was going to have the option of interfering or something like that.

Wade and his group weren't known for being 'gentle' or precise when they were doing brutal things on the show. When they had first made their debut, John had actually come out of it with several bruises. He had done his best to brush them off and give the guys the benefit of the doubt due to lack of experience. When it had happened again, something had triggered inside of Randy. Usually, the older male was the one doing the looking out for his best friend and being protective but it had started showing in the younger man recently. On more then one occasion John had to talk his friend down from a rage so he wouldn't go out and kill someone in the Nexus or, as Randy put it, 'teach them a lesson in respect'. None of the members of the group showed their face for very long when the Viper was around—they were terrified by the glares he shot them at every instance.

Once, Randy had even revealed that he was terrified that they would end up breaking one of John's bones or something and take him out of competition for awhile. Or something worse. He hated the fact that his friend wouldn't confront the group on the matter, that he just brushed it off like everything else. It wasn't a pleasant topic for the two, the subtle abuse going on from the group, but John was somehow convinced that it would pass soon enough. Just like all the other storylines.

"Okay, let's just calm down here for a moment." John rested his hands on his friend's shoulders and made eye contact with the other, "I know that you probably enjoy working yourself into a panic, but stop. Take a breath. Let's think about this logically."

"I _am_ thinking about it logically! John, how much longer are they going to get to beat up on you?" Randy shook his head, eyes closing as he pulled back and turned to kick a nearby wall, "You told me about that bet you're supposed to make with them soon—what if Vince tells you to lose it? What then? Me with the title and you stuck with those fuckers? Or even, what if I get tossed into the middle of that with the title and..."

John shook his head, reaching up to rub his forehead, "Stop it. We both know that you aren't going to let those guys touch you _or_ the title."

"But it's not up to me! And what about you? I don't give a shit what happens to me—I just don't want to be responsible for anything more between you and those guys." Randy clenched his fists and looked down at the jorts he was still wearing before turning around to look at his friend, "He's only doing this because we went out there tonight and I broke from the mold. You _know_ that McMahon is going to punish you because of _me_."

"No. Because it's not your fault, Randy." Raising a finger to stop the other from interrupting him, John nodded towards the couch that was sitting off the side. Randy sat down, head in his hands as the older male sat beside him and tossed an arm over his shoulders, "Listen to me, alright? I was the one who came up with the idea for tonight. You didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"That's supposed to make me feel better? I could have said no if I wanted to, John. I could have even done that entire thing like a heel and I didn't, I just—"

"You did what I told you to do. Went out there and had fun—exactly what I wanted when I set it up. And I wouldn't have let you do it any differently even if you tried."

"I still did it, though! And it pissed Vince off, so—"

"So now we get to handle Nexus together. A pretty good trade if I do say so myself." John patted his friend on the shoulder, feeling him relax a bit at the realization, "And you get to loosen up some more out of that grouch-shell persona they have you doing on screen. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'. We get to work together for once and the Universe will probably love it."

"But you don't know that's what this'll be, John..." Randy bit his lip, raising his head from his hands to look uncertainly at the other, "You don't know that I won't be told to leave you to their mercy or vice-versa. Nothing _good_ comes from these vague hints that Vince gives out. The last time, with Hunter—"

"I know what happened last time Vince hinted to you in a 'friendly' conversation. But that's not going to happen here. I won't let it happen, Randy, and neither will you." John met his friend's gaze seriously, brow furrowing, "The fact of the matter is that we went out there and enjoyed ourselves without giving a care in the world what Vince would think about it or if he'd even approve. Too late to take it back now and we shouldn't want to, anyway. It's good to let loose and show some free will every now and again, you know?"

"Funny, hearing that from someone who spends most of their time kissing Vince's ass."

He grinned. That sounded more like the Randy he was used to, "Yeah, well, maybe I got tired of watching my best friend walking around with his personality being forced into a little figurine on screen. I think if you want to be less of a bad guy and more of an anti-hero, then you should take charge and do it."

"It's not about what I want, John..."

"The hell it isn't; do you remember back when we were stuck in the developmental stages with these bastards?" The older male leaned back against the couch and played with his hat a little, "We made each other promise to never let creative turn us into scared puppets who's opinions they could just brush off."

"Right. Hunter said that the worst possible thing to do was conform willingly to something you didn't agree with." Randy mused, tilting his head down again, "And that if you wanted change, you had to make it happen yourself."

"Whether or not the company agrees with you. Now, I'm perfectly fine being the go-to good guy for the company." John waved his hand, "Sure, the beat downs and negative responses suck and unfortunately they play me off like some kind of invincible guy, but whatever. I'm happy that I can make fans happy. You, on the other hand, aren't even content anymore. You're restless."

"I'm not—"

"Don't try lying to me, we both know it. The crazy villain routine is getting old and redundant for you. You want a change that you aren't being given and it's obvious that the fans wouldn't mind something a little different as well. So." He stopped to lean forward and nudge his friend, gaining eye contact once again, "Instead of worrying about the repercussions of what we did tonight, why not just capitalize and do what you want?"

"...I seriously doubt I could pass for a good guy, Cena." Randy snorted, looking away again and standing up from the couch to start getting changed from the 'gear' he was wearing, "I don't even _want_ to turn into a goody two-shoes. I just want..."

"To be able to goof around, smile a bit, show emotion that doesn't scream 'evil intentions'?"

"...Something like that, yeah." Rolling his eyes at the thought of 'goofing around' in front of a bunch of fans where he wasn't supposed to be aiming to save his own ass from a beat down, the younger male shook his head. He had replaced the shorts with a pair of dark jeans and was currently in the process of pulling one of his t-shirts over his head. When his head popped through the neck hole of his shirt, he was met with a scarily serious and _very_ close, troubled looking John Cena.

"Hey Randy."

"Er... Yeah?"

"Where are my dog-tags?"

His insides froze. In fact, his entire body froze. During all the chaos and trouble that Edge and Jericho had caused before he returned to the back, Randy had totally blanked about getting John's tags back from the ref. Apparently, so had he. So much for not letting anything happen to them or else. Eyes panning to the door, the Viper noticed his friend's eyes narrow and swallowed hard before rolling his eyes.

"They're... They're in my bag. Front pocket." Stepping to the side so that Cena could get to said bag to check, he took advantage of his friend's trusting nature to get closer to the door, "You didn't think I _forgot_ them or something, did you?"

"Knowing you, I wouldn't be surpr—They ain't here!" John straightened from his searching and turned to see an empty locker room, "RANDAL!"

Randy careened down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him, feeling confident in the knowledge that he was faster then the man that was bound to be chasing after him now. He had a head start, he was fast, and the arena was a damn big maze. No way would John find him before he found that ref. Swinging around a corner at high speeds, Randy was forced to leap over one John Morrison who had dropped something and was crouched in the middle of the hall.

"Get out of the damn way, Morrison!" He called back to the confused brunette as he kept running, _"_Fuck. No one pays attention anymore."

Darting around another corner, Randy ran headfirst into someone much bigger and bulkier then him. He reeled backwards and was kept from toppling over by a large hand, "Woah, hey. You're in a hurry, Orton. Where's the fire?"

The Big Show had obviously been heading out but was now looking down with a sense of worry at Randy. The smaller male shook his head to try and recover from the collision—it was like hitting a wall that had been made of rubber. Maybe softer then actual concrete, but still fucking painful no matter what speeds you hit it with. The other must have realized this, because he waited patiently for a response.

"I... God... John..." Waving his hands, Randy pointed down the hall, breathing heavily now that he wasn't running at high speeds down the halls anymore, "The ref... Dog-tags... Forgot—"

"Oh man, you left his tags with the ref?" Shaking his head, Show chuckled and gave him a pitying look before stepping to the side, "You better get stepping before he catches up to you, man. If I see him, I'll stall a bit for you."

"T-thanks." Waving a hand, the Viper took off down the hall again to continue his search. The ref couldn't have forgotten about the tags, too, could he? They always had to give them back to John after matches, so surely...

As if answering his prayers, as he rounded the next corner Randy spotted his target and made a beeline for him. He all but tackled the man, hands gripping at his shoulders to keep the guy from moving as he focused on evening out his breathing again. It would suck to be panting out things to every one he came up to like he had with Show. The Viper had no intentions of making himself look like a ridiculous fool anymore then he already had tonight. There was a difference between having fun and being a total idiot—one meant losing all his dignity.

"R-randy?" The ref asked, obviously not sure whether he should be more terrified or worried. He swallowed hard when the superstar finally raised his head to make eye contact. "Is there, uh, something you needed?"

"The tags." Randy growled out softly, his tone urgent, "I need the dog-tags John'll kill me if I don't get them—"

"The... Oh. Oh! I was wondering about that when no one asked for them after the match, but..." Oh no. His stomach dropped at the hesitation in the words of his current prey, "I-I thought they might just be replicas, so I returned them to the costume department—"

"You did _what_? Oh, goddamn it!" Shoving the referee away, Randy spun and shot off in the direction of his new target. How stupid could someone be? Why didn't he come and ask one of them first? "Stupid fucking..."

He should probably be thankful that most of the people had already left the arena or were getting ready to leave. Also that the dressing department was one of the last to pack up. A hour after RAW went off air, that gave him a decent shot at catching them. If luck was on his side, then everything would be fine and he could take a shortcut back to his locker room before John found him. If not then... Well. He could just run for his life and lock himself in the hotel room until his friend calmed down again.

Thankfully, as he rounded the last corner into the department, he was just in time. They were just getting ready to pack things up and, in exchange for helping the crew wheel shit out to the parking lot, the make up lady handed over the necklace. Not before scolding him for not paying better attention to things that he was borrowing, first. Red faced, Randy made his way at a much slower pace back to his locker room—dog-tags dangling safely around his neck where they couldn't get lost, stolen or anything of that sort.

The second he stepped foot back in the door of the room, he was tackled into the couch. Releasing a startled yelp, Randy's first reaction was to start throwing punches at the offender. He stopped himself mid-strike, however, the second his friend's voice reached his ears.

"Hand them over."

"...Damn it, John, don't startle me like that!" Bringing his fist down on the older man's back with more force then he had originally intended, Randy attempted to shove the huge bulk off him. John wasn't having it, though, positioning himself in a sitting position on the other's stomach and glaring down at him.

"You ran out of here like someone had set a fire under your ass. I_ assume_, since they weren't really in your bag, that you forgot my tags and went to find them before I could beat the shit out of you for being irresponsible." Pressing a hand down on his friend's shoulder to stop him from struggling, John held out the other one in demand, "Since you came back, you must have gotten them. Unless everyone else is already gone, but you don't seem like someone doomed to get their ass beat."

"You know what people say about when you assume." Randy growled, reaching up with his one free hand (the other was pinned against the back of the couch) to shove at his friend's chest, "Get off of me and I'll get them for you."

It took a moment of mutual glaring before he was freed again, allowing the younger man to sit up and tug the chain over his head before throwing it at his friend. John held them up for examination before frowning. His expression was mirrored by the younger male, who suddenly felt like he should fear for his life. Shifting nervously in his seat, Randy leaned forward and rubbed the back of his neck, watching his friend warily.

"...John?"

"...Who did you get them back from?" John glanced over at him, his expression suddenly far too normal for the frown it had sported just seconds before. Not to mention that his tone was extremely casual.

"Er..." Was this a trick question? Should he lie? No, that would be ridiculous. John already knew that he had forgotten them originally so what was the point in trying to keep the cat in a bag that had been torn open? "From... From Valerie in wardrobe. The ref gave them to her when neither of us claimed them after the match."

"Val, huh." Suddenly, John's lips quirked upwards in amusement, "That explains it. Come on."

Shouldering his own bag, he grabbed Randy's in one hand before snatching said man's wrist in his other and dragging him out of the room. They headed in the direction of the parking garage, the older male fully ignoring the protests of his friend at being pulled around. Also ignoring the fact that they were heading in the wrong direction to get to the rental car. He had a certain destination in mind and, sure as shit, sitting on the hood of the company's wardrobe truck smoking a cigarette was the head of the department. She had one leg crossed over the other, swinging back and forth in a carefree manner that suggested she was waiting for something.

Dangling around her neck, in plain sight, Randy noticed a pair of dog-tags His heart sank. This wasn't _really_ happening, was it? Glancing between John and the woman, he was forced with the sudden realization that it was. Valerie had spotted them and was sporting the most wicked smirk he had ever seen on her. He'd been had by the damn wardrobe lady! All that trouble of helping them move things to the parking lot and load them, getting lectured, and she had given him _fakes_.

"Hey, Val, I got a trade offer for ya." John called as he approached, still keeping a firm grip on his friend's wrist.

"Trade? Whatever for, John?" Randy glared at the not-at-all innocent lady, yanking his wrist from the older man's grip as they came to a stop in front of the truck and crossing his arms. She just smiled at him, "Hello again, Randal."

"You tricked me." Forget pleasantries. He didn't like being taken for a fool, "Not nice."

The other wrestler snickered, tossing a look over his shoulder at his friend, "You sound like a little kid, O." Turning his attention back to the woman on the truck, John held out the I.D tag necklace that Randy had given him earlier, "I believe these belong to you. I'd like mine back, please, if you'd be so kind."

"I don't know, are you gonna be handing them out again to irresponsible youths anytime soon?" Valerie asked, lips twisting up into a teasing grin as she glanced at Randy, "Sorry, hon, but you lost them once. How could I trust you not to do so again? I couldn't be certain, of course, and John's tags are far too precious to take a chance like that."

He growled again, dropping his arms to his sides and clenching his hands, "I _am_ responsible. I'm just not used to having to double back to the damn referee for a necklace after matches. I hunted that fucking ref down, then sprinted over to where you were set up to get them and you _tricked _me!"

"If you were really responsible, you would have checked to make sure they were the right tags before running off with them." She countered easily, shrugging her shoulders, "But you didn't, so I obviously made a good decision."

The Champ chuckled, reaching back to pat his friend on the shoulder, "Alright, alright you two. I promise I won't hand them out to any _'irresponsible youths'_. Now." He jingled the necklace in his hands and nodded to the one around her neck. Smirking still, Valerie lifted it from around her neck and handed it over before taking back her own. John smiled and nodded, "Thank you very much, Val. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, dear. Have a good night, boys." Sliding from the truck top, the wardrobe lately walked around to climb into the driver's seat of the truck, rolling down the window to call out, "And Randal, thank you so very much for your help earlier. I really do appreciate it when such young men take the time out to assist the crew." Winking, she pulled out and was gone.

Randy, face having colored a deep red, was fuming. How dare she! He hardly noticed when John turned to face him, once again sporting the slightest of frowns. When the other man took a step towards him was when his instincts kicked in and told him to back up. He did, quickly, and received a grin in response. Fuck.

"Fuck." Swallowing, he continued to back up, glancing behind him in search of the rental car, "John, come on. Nothing _happened_."

"Nothing happened?" John repeated quietly, raising an eyebrow as he moved closer, "You nearly lost them. I'd call that something."

"I did _not_ nearly lose them. I left them with the ref—an _official_. Who gave them to Val, who kept them safe. That's not losing. That's... A memory lapse." The back of his legs bumped against a car and Randy jumped slightly, glancing behind him before sliding quickly around to the other side. It wasn't theirs, which made him both relieved and disappointed at the same time. "They were safe the _entire_ time."

"Really? Why do you think the ref would have given them to Val instead of coming to one of us?" John inquired, walking around the car without a second thought as the younger male kept backing up, "Because normally, he would just bring them to me."

"Uhh..."

"Maybe because he thought that, since you were the one wearing them originally, they weren't _real_?" Despite the fact that his tone was one of a more debating nature to suggest he really was wondering, Randy could tell by the look in his friend's eyes that he wasn't really asking, "So he passed them off to wardrobe—but he could just have easily handed them off to a random fan we'd probably never be able to track."

Suddenly, John tossed Randy's bag to him. It collided directly with the younger wrestler's chest, the force behind the throw making him stumble back into another car—their rental. The other took full advantage, darting forward while the Viper was still trying to regain his breath. Within seconds, both bags were discarded to the ground as the two struggled with each other. Idly, Randy noted that they were fighting an awful lot for one night. Normally he tried to keep from making a scene anywhere—

"AGH! Cena, let _go_!" John had gotten a grip on his ear of all things, twisting it painfully so that Randy had to stoop over to try and alleviate the feeling, "Damn it, I'm not some kid!"

"Y'sure?" His ear was released, but it led to a wave of small pinches and grabs at almost every other area of his body in his friend's reach, "I don't know, man, you've been pretty moody. The more I watch the more it looks like my best friend is relapsing into some kind of angsty teenager."

"I'm—ah!—not—ow—d-damn it—John—!" Flailing, Randy attempted to knock his hands away, cursing when his friend just attacked his arms in response and fighting back a smile, "Ow! Wo-would you—geh—I sai—S-stop it! Fuck! Cen—Agh!"

Defense instincts kicking in, he slid down and tried to slip out under the other's arms. John caught him around the waist with one arm. He chuckled in amusement, pinching Randy one last time on the hip before reaching up to give him a quick noogie and letting go completely. Within the blink of an eye, the younger wrestler had put at least five feet of distance between himself and his deviously grinning friend. His breath came out in short bursts as he glared accusingly across the space at the other.

"Never... Do that... Again."

"What? Weren't you just laughing a second ago?" John smirked, wagging a finger at his friend, "You don't fool me, I see that smirk."

"I was _not_ laughing." Randy pressed his lips together into a thin line, clenching his fists.

"Really? I feel like we should double check..." As his friend took a quick step forward, he took several back and raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head.

"No! No, John, that's okay, we don't need to—" The older male grinned, darting forward only to be sidestepped and darted around by the younger, "I mean it! Once was enough—Ack!" Jumping to the side, Randy sidled his way around to the other side of the car, putting it between them as the other made another attempt to grab him, "Okay! Maybe I was laughing a _little_."

"A little?" John started around the car, making Randy rotate with him to stay directly across from the other.

"Yes. A little."

"I think it was more then a little, man."

"I don't care what you think, Cena."

"Well, you know, you're gonna have to because if we ever want to get out of here you're going to have to come within five feet of me."

"Or I could just drive off without you."

"Ahh, but I have the keys."

"You do not—hey!" Randy balked as the sound of jingling reached his ears and John held up the keys to the rental. There was a shit-eating grin on his face that spelled trouble, "How the hell did you get the keys?"

"I snagged them out of your bag before I tossed it to you. Speaking of." John suddenly shot forward much faster, making Randy blink and move that much more quickly as well.

He didn't notice the bags in time to jump cleanly over them. Instead, thanks to a last minute attempt to do so, he stumbled awkwardly. A double step and messy hop later, the Viper turned and noted that his friend had covered that much more space between them. Cursing mentally, he raised his hands up in defense he shook his head.

"Alright, alright, you win!" Randy let out a low sigh when John paused and raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, "I maybe I was laughing, but that doesn't mean you have leave to pull something like that again."

The older man chuckled in response, nodding, "Okay. I promise I won't."

Randy stared at him hard for a moment before shaking his head and moving to retrieve their bags, "Sometimes you're just so damn creepy."

"And sometimes creepy is the only damn way to get you to react to something." John winked, opening up the trunk of the rental car for the other to stick the bags in, "If it wasn't, then I wouldn't do it quite so much."

"Shit, man. I'm just going to stop reacting to everything."

"Everything? I don't think that's even possible for you, O." Raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, he grinned from ear to ear when his friend let out a helpless laugh, "See?"

"Just get in the damn car and drive, Cena." Randy snapped halfheartedly, climbing into the passenger seat and shaking his head.

"Eager to get to the hotel or something?" John slid into the driver side, still grinning. It was always fun to tease around with the other, even better that they were comfortable enough with one another to do so.

"I don't know, did someone slip you something when I wasn't looking earlier?" The younger male tossed a glance at his friend, frowning in mock-worry, "Because I'm thinking I might have to room with Ted tonight."

"Oh, don't say that." His friend pouted as he started up the car, "My night would be just _horrible_ without a healthy dose of you around."

At this, Randy couldn't help but stare at John for about ten seconds before cracking up. His hand came up to cover his face and he shook his head in disbelief. Of course, it wasn't long before the other was laughing as well. They spent a couple of minutes in good natured amusement before either of them calmed down enough to speak again.

"Man, I can't believe you just said that. I mean, what _was_ that, even?" Randy snickered, wiping a stray tear from his eye and glancing over to his friend, "'Without a healthy dose of you around'? What, you haven't had enough of me yet?"

John chuckled, shaking his head and shrugging, "What can I say. Apparently, I'm insatiable."

"Insatiable. _Right_. Spare me from your horrible pick-up lines."

"You love it."

"About as much as I loved dressing up and mimicking you tonight."

As he pulled out of the parking lot, John had to think about that one. He cast a sidelong look at his best friend, but Randy was keeping his face stoic. Had that been a compliment or an insult? He didn't feel any malice in the words and after a moment, the younger male caught sight of his gaze and tilted his head down in attempt to hide a smile. Immediately, John broke into a full-dimpled grin and turned his focus back to the road ahead.

He was glad that Randy had ended up enjoying himself, it would have all been for nothing otherwise and John hated the thought of having turned orange for god-knows-how-long for no reason.


End file.
